All-or-Nothing Joy
“I think you should probably pick a different mug for today,” my husband tells me, nodding towards my mug which reads “JOY” across the front.
“Huh?” I ask, confused by his blatant accusation.
“Your coffee cup,” he answers matter-of-factly. “Unless it’s something you’re trying to have…” he trails off. “In that case, solid choice,” he smirks in my direction before opening the kitchen cabinet and getting his own cup. I glare at him before changing my response to a guilty chuckle.
My kids are unfamiliar with the idea of a peaceful Sunday morning; my youngest has been awake since approximately 5:20 am, and my oldest’s attitude is next level. It’s 8:30 am, and I am not only irritated but also somehow begging my cup of cold coffee to give me impossible amounts of energy. I have already yelled and snapped and we have barely eaten breakfast. Wishing I could press some kind of giant reset button, I take a sip out of the mug my husband referenced. I swallow a bit of my guilt along with my desperate need for energy, while silently praying it actually gives me more joy than I am presently feeling.
Do I find joy in motherhood? Yes.
Do I choose the mug labeled “JOY” intentionally some days, in hopes it gives a little extra of that Fruit of the Spirit?
Also yes.
The tv carries an overly enthusiastic theme song from the living room to my ears as I set my cup back on the counter and watch my kids nestle into the couch cushions with heavy eyelids. I could have chosen any of my other mugs that morning, but chose the one I needed most. I feel silly for thinking a coffee mug with a word on it could actually give me the thing it says on the front. My husband knew it too, though, that I needed a little extra joy this morning. Somehow. And I wonder; How does our expression and portrayal of genuine joy reflect how truly joyful we are? Would someone who sees me or meets me think I’m not happy or grateful because I’m not doing flips every time my child says a new word or learns a new skill (or wakes up at 5 am)?
How can we celebrate the small joys maybe not in a big way, but a meaningful one?
***
A few years ago I came across someone on the internet who explained every night they write in their Notes app, “three things from the day they are grateful for.” Small things, not a house or food or clothing or jobs. Instead, they tracked things like “rode bikes outside with my kids in the sun,” or “sat for ten minutes to read a new book.”
Small things.
It being January 1st, and me being such a sucker for all things involving a fresh start (yes I’m one of those, sue me), I jumped on board. This is great, I thought. Relishing in the tiny moments. I can do this. Afterward, I will surely be more grateful all around. Happier! Calmer! A better mom! (It’s okay, I can totally feel you laugh at me while reading this).
So I tried this method—and to absolutely no one’s surprise, it lasted maybe three days. Since I’m still thinking about it, years later, it probably had more impact on me than I care to admit. Although I haven’t quite grasped the “three things daily you are grateful for” habit yet, maybe I would be more grateful if I acknowledged the small joys more often. Is there a middle ground to committing to “writing three out dutifully every night before I fall asleep” and “not having the time/space/energy/desire/drive to acknowledge them at all?”
***
My four-year-old recently learned what opposites are. This age is so fun as they absorb new things and show them off. She’s quick to find and point opposites out, and I love to see her brain working and growing.
“The clouds are in the sky. Up! The opposite of up is down,” she shouts in the car while we’re out running errands. “You went into the tunnel, then came out. In and out! They’re opposites!” She tells me while we play.
I nod and smile and tell her, “Yes yes, you’re right. Good job!” I give her more words to tell me about their opposite partners. But if I asked my daughter to tell me the opposite of joy, I’m not sure what she would say, even though I know the opposite of joy is misery. After some Googling, I also found synonyms for it were despair, trial, and tribulation. But synonymous to joy were delight, jubilation, thrill, and elation. I can confidently say I prefer the latter terminology. Especially in my motherhood. And I so wish I could tell you I was a bubbly, joyful person all the time. I am not, and I’m not sure how to change to be one. I don’t think motherhood is a continuous joy parade. It comes with serious hardships, and I’m not naïve enough to think there is any mother out there who is happy all the time.
But I can focus more on the small joys than I do now—I’m sure of it. I can work to notice them, even if I don’t list them on my phone each night. I can name them, give them power. I can label them with significance to form a habit. I can say them out loud, alone in my car, in the shower.
My husband and I often joke our children are made up of extremes with rarely any middle. And sometimes, I think of myself the same way in motherhood and in life. I think I have to be on all the time or completely at rest—that I have no other option but to be joyful or miserable. I’m not sure when I decided I can only ever exist in opposites. Can’t there be a middle? A mix of emotions, a combination of the big joys and the small ones; joy existing both in extremes and sprinkled in with other emotions?
When I married my husband, I didn’t commit to “only being happy all the time.” I committed to saying I do and I will daily. Regardless of the joy or the pain, the mess or the hardship. There’s a blend, a middle ground, a harmony to be discovered. Just the same, when I became a mother, I never promised to not get upset or yell. I never promised to be bubbly and joyful all the time (I would have long failed that promise, if so). Maybe the first step is small. The first step is speaking, then writing; simply acknowledging before solidifying. It’s starting by naming one joy, then taking it from there before naming two or three, in a more daily practice.
It’s growing in our gratitude, mixing it in throughout life’s radical opposites.
We don’t exist in opposites alone. So why do we expect the greatest and most authentic, yet humanly flawed relationships in our lives to exist in extremes?
This middle ground, this dance of the extremes, it’s here in our everyday lives. It is there in the Sunday mornings—dwelling among the cold coffee and much too-early rises—and in the pain and the joy of motherhood. Maybe joy can exist simultaneously in both the big moments and the tiny ones. Maybe I don’t have to commit to solely being bubbly and joyful all the time; I can learn how joy exists alongside my day, in the simplest of ways.
I can fine-tune my eyes to see and my ears to hear the sounds and sights of laughter, the pockets of celebration among the mundane. The way my youngest laughs on the couch after I tickle him, or my oldest’s determination to spell out a word. I can identify joy in big ways and small ones, giving permission for it to exist and dwell alongside various emotions.
Joy can exist with fear and apprehension and sadness, next to chaos and exhaustion—we just have to remember to look for it.
Maybe we don’t need to have an all-or-nothing type of joy, we just need to notice the moments resting in between the extremes.
